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A Season To Remember

Page 19

by Gayle Ava Stone, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Catherine


  He most certainly did not mean to propose. Miranda’s face heated anew at the memory of Lord Harrison’s kiss then his words a moment later: If you want to be ruined, Miranda, you need only ask. As though she wanted to be ruined. For a brief moment she’d felt as though she’d floated to the clouds until he’d said such an awful thing. “She’s come to see Louisa,” Miranda stressed their sister-in-law’s name. “Did you not hear Hibbert?”

  But Penny paid her no attention, like always. Her sister leaned closer to Miranda and said, “Where did you meet him? You never said.”

  Heavens. Penny was as bad as Cerberus with a bone. Miranda rose to her feet. “I’m feeling a bit piqued. I think I’ll retire until dinner.”

  Before she could escape, however, a pretty girl stepped into the parlor. Her light brown hair trailed over one shoulder, making her appear both innocent and slightly regal at the same time. She was young, however. Close to Miranda’s or Penny’s age to be sure. But then, Lord Harrison had mentioned that fact last night in the hack, hadn’t he? The lady smiled sweetly, her green eyes, so much like her brother’s, landed on Louisa. “Lady Marston, so wonderful to meet you. Your cousin, Emma Heathfield, is a dear friend of mine.”

  Louisa nodded her head in greeting. “Yes, Emma has spoken highly of you, Lady St. Austell. We’re so glad you’ve come to call.”

  “Oh, Pippa, please,” the countess said, touching a hand to her chest as she crossed the floor. “I do hate to stand on ceremony with friends, which I sincerely hope you will be.”

  “Then you must call me Louisa.” Their sister-in-law gestured to Miranda, standing before the settee and Penny still seated on it. “My new sisters, Miranda and Penelope Bartlett.”

  The countess flashed a winning smile in the sisters’ direction. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is ours,” Louisa replied. “Do join us, Pippa.”

  “Sit, Miranda,” Penny hissed. “It’s you she’s really come to see.”

  That statement drew Lady St. Austell’s green eyes from Louisa to focus on Miranda as the countss took a seat in a chair opposite them.

  Perfect. Penny and her big mouth.

  “I’ve come to see all of you,” the countess protested, “and to extend an invitation to my ball tomorrow night.”

  “Miranda,” Louisa said quietly, though there was an edge to her voice, making it quite clear that she needed to reclaim her seat.

  Defeated, Miranda sank back onto the settee beside Penny and folded her hands in her lap, wishing she was anywhere else in the world.

  “Lord Harrison mentioned your ball before he took Miranda riding,” Penny said, as though she was incapable of keeping any information to herself. She would make a terrible spy. Thank heavens, Miranda hadn’t entrusted any of her secrets to her little sister. All of London would know them if she had.

  A genuine smile lit Lady St. Austell’s face, and her green eyes twinkled happily. “Did you go riding with Harry today?”

  Harry? Was that was his family called him? Miranda nodded her answer instead of speaking. What was she to say to the countess? Oh, yes. Your brother took me riding and even let me drive. And then he kissed me senseless before breaking my heart. How was your afternoon? No, it was better just to nod.

  “We are looking forward to your ball,” Louisa said, breaking the awkward silence. “I promised the girls we would all go.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” Lady St. Austell replied. “My husband mentioned today what great friends he was with Mr. Bartlett, and he’s quite anxious to meet all of you.”

  Mr. Bartlett. Miranda swiped at a silent tear. If only Simeon was still here. The world had gone to shambles with her brother’s death, and it didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon. Simeon’s death, then Papa’s death, Tessie’s disappearance. A year ago, she hadn’t thought of the world as bleak, but now…

  Hibbert strode into the parlor, a heavy tea tray in his hands. Louisa gestured to nearest table. “That will do. Thank you, Hibbert.”

  As the butler made his escape, Miranda wished herself away with him. How would she ever get through tea with Lady St. Austell?

  As soon as Pippa St. Austell returned home, the butler directed her to her husband’s study when she inquired after his whereabouts. She knocked on the door and then pushed it open just as Jason called, “Yes?”

  Upon seeing her, her husband rose from his spot, a frown marring his too handsome face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Pippa could only shake her head. Nothing from that afternoon made any sense at all. “I’m not sure.”

  Jason stepped around his desk, and then crossed the floor to stand before her. “Something is troubling you.” He caressed her cheek, and his light blue eyes filled with concern. “Tell me.”

  Pippa heaved a sigh, smiling up at him. No matter what Harry or anyone else thought, Jason truly was a wonderful, devoted husband. “I just came from Marston House.”

  “And you met the object of Harrison’s affections.”

  Pippa cringed. “That’s just it, Jason. The girl is so strange. I can’t imagine what Harry sees in her.”

  Jason’s brow rose slightly, as though to say he thought Harry was fairly strange himself.

  She lightly smacked his chest. “Harry is wonderful,” she protested.

  “You are his sister.”

  “Jason!” There was still no love lost between either of her brothers and her husband, but there was no reason for him to be insulting.

  A roguish grin settled on his face. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re right. Harrison is wonderful,” he said, in an obvious attempt to placate her. “Tell me what’s so strange about the Bartlett chit.”

  Slightly appeased, Pippa explained, “She’s more peculiar than strange, I suppose. She certainly isn’t what I expected.” She heaved another sigh. “Jason, she barely met my eye the entire time I was there. She said less than a dozen words, and I’m fairly certain she swiped at tears more than once during my stay.”

  “She cried?” Jason frowned. “Sweetheart, you have no idea how much I appreciate the fact that you’re not a crier.”

  Pippa felt like crying now. Harry was wonderful, and he deserved a girl who was equally wonderful. One whose face lit up when she heard his name. One who would love him the way he deserved to be loved. One who would gush over him. One who seemed capable of happiness.

  “What did you expect?”

  Pippa wasn’t quite certain. “A girl with some spirit, I suppose. An adventurous girl. A girl who is capable of engendering the look I saw in his eyes today.” She shrugged. “Jason, I’ve never known him to behave as he did this morning. He seemed completely besotted.”

  “Infatuated might be a better word.”

  Why was he splitting hairs? “Infatuated, besotted, what does it matter? I’ve never seem him like he was this morning.”

  “Certainly not with a proper girl,” her husband added, almost under his breath.

  Pippa narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re certainly not one to talk on that score, Jason York.” After all, very few men had reputations as blackened as her husband’s had been before their marriage.

  He chuckled in response. “But I found my proper girl, and I’m all the happier for it.” Then he tipped her chin upwards with a crooked finger and he pressed his lips to hers, soothing her as only he could. “Don’t worry about Harrison, Pippa,” he said softly. “I’m certain it’s just a lover’s quarrel and they will work it out, if it’s to be.”

  Pippa blinked at her husband. “Why do you think it’s a lover’s quarrel?”

  Jason shrugged. “I saw Harrison myself at Gentleman Jackson’s this afternoon. I’ve never seen him so furious, not even when we told him of our plans to marry. I’m not sure whose face he envisioned on that punch bag, but I’m glad it wasn’t mine.”

  “Harry was that angry?” None of this made any sense at all. Something had to have happened. “But he was so happy when he was here earlier t
oday.”

  “Besotted or infatuated.” Her husband agreed with a nod. “Which is why I’m fairly certain it was a lover’s quarrel. Think about it, sweetheart. If they’d had a spat, and if she is just as upset as your brother is, she probably wouldn’t want to say more than a few words to you. You are his sister, after all.”

  He might be right on that score. Had Pippa met Jason’s sister after she learned how he’d tricked her early in their courtship, she wouldn’t have had anything kind to say to the lady either. But then that begged the question… What had Harry done? “If you’re right, we’ll have to fix whatever it is, Jason.”

  He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “We will do no such thing. I offered my council to Harrison. He rejected that, by the way, which is completely within his rights. It’s his life, Pippa. He will have to sort it out on his own.”

  But Harry was her brother, her favorite brother. Jason wasn’t close to his sister, he didn’t understand that bond, but Georgie did as she was very close to her siblings. Pippa would see what her friend thought about the situation and go from there.

  “I know that look,” her husband said. “You’re thinking about involving yourself anyway.”

  She shrugged. “I just want to ask Georgie’s opinion on the matter.”

  He laughed. “At least she has a level head.”

  “What is going on with Harrison Casemore?” Devlin Bartlett, Viscount Marston, demanded from his desk, his eyes focused on Miranda.

  “Nothing,” Miranda answered honestly, standing before her brother like a chastened schoolgirl. But nothing was going on. Not now. Nor would it ever, with that particular gentleman.

  Her brother arched one disbelieving eyebrow. “Louisa says he showed up here today, took you riding, and that his sister arrived later to ensure your attendance at her ball tomorrow. Should I be expecting an offer from him?”

  A demand similar to Fordingham’s? Devlin would love that, wouldn’t he? One more sister off his hands. Miranda bit back that answer though, as it would only anger her brother and that was the last thing she needed at the moment. “I don’t believe so.”

  He sat back in his chair and templed his hands in front of him as though he was deep in thought. “I just don’t understand where you could have possibly met him, Miranda. He hasn’t attended any of the functions we have. It’s all very odd.”

  She gulped, hoping her brother wouldn’t notice.

  “But there was the strangest tale swirling about him around Town today.”

  Oh? Did he have a penchant for kissing lots of girls in an attempt to warn them of the dangers of scurrilous men? Did he break hearts all across Town? Or only hers?

  “Seems some dark haired girl found her way into a gambling establishment last night, dressed as a young man. But Casemore escorted her out, tossing her over his shoulder in the process.”

  Heavens! How had Devlin heard that story? “How strange,” she muttered, hating that her hands had become moist under her brother’s scrutiny.

  “Strange, indeed.” Devlin sighed. “Care to tell me what the devil you were doing there?”

  Miranda sucked in a breath, and a hand fluttered to her chest. “Me?”

  He snorted. “I have known you all your life, Miranda. Feigning innocence won’t work with me. Now tell me the truth.”

  She hated him when he was haughty. Not for the first time, she wished Simeon was still here. Simeon who’d adored her and would have listened the first time she told him about Tessie. “I just wanted a word with Lord Stalbridge.”

  “This again?” Devlin barked, bringing his fist down on the desk that had once belonged to their father. “We have discussed this.”

  “No,” Miranda countered, holding her head high. “You have discussed this. You haven’t listened to me, Devlin. All I want to know is what happened to Tessie, and Stalbridge can tell me.”

  Her brother rose from his desk, his nose flaring like that of an out-of-sorts bull. “You are not to go near Stalbridge, Miranda. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, but this will be the last,” he growled. “You will not sneak out of this house in men’s clothes. You will not enter gaming hells. You will not go to Stalbridge House. You will act like a lady, and you will encourage Casemore, if he truly is pursuing you. He may not have his brother’s pristine reputation, but the man does come from a good family. You could do worse.”

  That was the edge of enough. Miranda folded her arms across her chest and glared at her brother. “Harrison Casemore can go to the devil, and you can too.”

  “I’ve already been there.” A muscle twitched in Devlin’s jaw. “You think I want to be Marston? You think I wouldn’t rather Simeon and Father still be here?”

  Miranda’s gaze dropped to the floor at the mention of Simeon and Papa.

  “But they’re not,” Devlin continued. “And it’s been left to me to ensure yours, Calista’s, and Penny’s futures.” He inhaled deeply as though to rein in his temper, then he released that breath and said, “Go to your chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head for St. Austell house tomorrow.”

  Miranda turned on her heel and started for her chambers, irritation rolling off her in waves. If Devlin would just listen for once! If he would only try to help her find out what had happened to her friend… Go to your chambers. I don’t want to see you until we head for St. Austell House tomorrow.

  Hmph. It really was too bad for Devlin that he’d been so specific in his directives. So she couldn’t sneak out of the house looking like a man, hmm? Well, then she’d just have to sneak out of the house disguised as someone else, because one way or another, Lord Stalbridge was going to answer to her questions. Besides, refocusing her attention on the dissolute marquess should keep her mind off of a certain Herculean gentleman.

  “Harry,” his old friend Albie Potsdon complained as he sank against the squabs and looked at his watch fob, “I wanted to play Hazard some time tonight.”

  “You always lose at Hazard,” Harry replied, peeking out the window of his brother’s coach. “I’m doing you a favor.”

  “A favor?” Potsdon protested. “How exactly are you doing me a favor by spying on Martston House?”

  Harry kept his eyes trained on the home in question. “You can’t lose your blunt if you’re here with me, now, can you?”

  “What exactly are we doing here?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? Harry had no right, no reason, to keep a vigilant eye on Marston House. Just a feeling that he should be there. And despite the fact that she hated him, he was still drawn to her. He still wanted to make sure she was safe. Although, he’d rather not be alone while he did it, and Potsdon had always been fairly amusing. “Waiting.”

  “For…” Potsdon prodded.

  For Harry’s destiny? His old friend would laugh him out of the coach if he said such a ridiculous thing. “A girl.”

  Potsdon laughed anyway. “A girl? Harry, if you’re looking for a girl—”

  But whatever his friend meant to say died on his tongue when Harry grumbled, “There she is,” under his breath.

  Damn it to hell. He knew it. He knew she’d do something reckless. What was it with her affinity for disguises? Last night a fop and now a maid? There was no doubt in his mind the little maid who’d darted out from the mews and was now scampering down Curzon Street towards Berkeley Square was Miranda Bartlett. He’d know the shape of that bottom anywhere.

  “Harry,” Albie said, craning his neck to see out the coach window, “I’m pretty sure that’s a maid, not a girl.”

  Oh, she was a girl, and if Harry had played things differently today, she might have been his girl. He tossed open the coach door, climbed from the conveyance, glanced back at his friend, and said, “Morris can take you on to Gioco’s now.”

  Before Potsdon could utter another word, Harry shut the coach door behind him, then dashed down Curzon Street after the shapely little maid. With his longer stride and faster speed – and the fact that he wasn’
t in a confining dress – he caught up to her in no time.

  Miranda seemed to sense his presence and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her hazel eyes widened in surprise at the exact moment she stumbled forward. Harry reached out his hand, capturing her arm and pulled her against him, saving her from tumbling to the ground.

  She felt so perfect against him, her back to his front, his arms wrapped about her middle, anchoring her to him. Her labored breaths made lascivious images dance in his mind. He could have gone on holding her like that forever, relishing in the feel of her body against his, if she hadn’t spun in his hold and glared up at him. “What do you want?”

  To kiss her again. To toss her over his shoulder once more. To lay her beneath him and claim every inch of her. Damn it all to hell, he’d lost his mind. “Have you taken a position in service, Miranda?” he said instead.

  She pushed against his chest until he released his hold on her. “What I do is none of your concern.”

  But she was wrong about that. Everything she did concerned him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, even knowing how much she hated him. “Still that determined to make Stalbridge’s acquaintance, are you? No mind to your safety. No mind to your reputation. You’ll willingly ruin yourself just to meet the ne’er-do-well? Is that it?”

  She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Understand that she was clearly infatuated with the blackguard? No, he couldn’t quite understand that and never would if he lived to be a hundred. “Why, Miranda? Explain it to me.”

  “So you can teach me another of your lessons?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve learned all I intend to from you, my lord.” Then she turned on her heel and started to walk away from him.

  Harry easily caught up to her. He grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt once more. Then he dipped his head toward hers and whispered in her ear, “I only want to help you. That’s what I wanted ever since the moment I first laid eyes on you.” He released his hold on her and softly ran his hand up her arm.

  Miranda shivered slightly, which made Harry’s heart leap just a bit. Perhaps she didn’t hate him as much as he feared. Perhaps…

 

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